Callyx

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

So many people. Everyone talking, everyone being a bit of jerks towards him. Well, except the old man. He was nice. He was willing to give him a shot. Rook listened to the people talking, asking about clothing and working out. He didn't care about that. He had work to do. He had seen himself away from the others, oddly silent for one so large, and found himself a patch of dirt. Sitting down, he would gather some of the refuse from around him, looking at it and then the buildings around him. Each bit of junk was arranged in a way that would show a building. He traced what was (very roughly) the outline of the coast. There was the fishing shack he had, the road, the coast line, all the buildings in the center of town, and the docks.

“Rook sees many problems. No wall. No way to make wall from keeping out Mirelurks. Unless willing to do a lot of work. Hmmm...” Rook drew a few lines, looking over it and then standing up. “Yes. That would do. Need many things. Rook needs many things.”

Unless bothered, he would spend nearly an hour wandering the coast line of the town, looping back to his shack each time before finally walking up the road to the town proper. Now he had several feet of old steel cable, some various odds and ends he had grabbed up from the shore in his bag, that diamond plate chest guard, and a plan. While he still carried his white flag, he had a different expression on his face. He would plant the flag next to himself and look at the ruined tractor trailer. Walking around it, he would give it a quick over, seeing how poor shape it was in. In truth, it didn't need to be perfect, it needed to work.

He had been to a town not too many days away from here years ago, and his muscles had been put to the test. He had helped to build various fortifications for the town. At first he was alone in doing so, but it never too long for others to join him. There were old shipping containers that had washed up on the shore. While they were not the best, it didn't matter. They could be used for a number of things. He would have to haul those up on his own.

Wrapping the rope several times around the end of the trailer, where the hitch would sit, he would loop this around his chest as well. With that set, he would turn towards his goal. With everything set, he shifted, and made to take a step. Everything was locked up, he could feel the bindings tighten upon his chest. Rook continued to strain against it.

“Rook not be beaten by metal cart!” He yelled, his legs finally starting to move and he was growling as he started to drag the trailer. He was not going far with it, but he knew it was going to take a lot of effort. With metal screeching as he walked, the trailer was pulled behind him. He was working on turning it once it was going. He knew he wouldn't be able to make it turn on a cap, but he didn't need to go far. Between the building full of robots and skeletons, and the shore, the fork was his goal. He moved it back and forth, his muscles taxed to their limit as he got it settled finally.

Using the bits of metal he had gathered from the beach, he put stakes in front of, and behind, the sixteen tires, locking it in place. Despite breathing heavily for a few moments, he looked pleased with this.

“Rook make foundation for wall. Flip on side, bring containers up from water, use those behind it. Maybe find working motors to make working gates! Maybe Rook swim to boats and see if those motors work! Rook hates swimming though...” He turned back to town, picked up his flag, and went towards the diner... Only to discover it was still closed. “Ahhh... Meat maker man is not here... Back to work for now.”

He walked back down the hill, setting down his flag and sighing some. He would move the sand bags next, arranging them in a way to make it so they could keep someone in town protected from bullets. The cars would be rough, but these were next. Rocking the rusted poles back and forth, it didn't take long for them to snap, and would set those by the flat bed. He repeated the process of moving the cars next, positioning them on either side of the road, making the makeshift cover one could use if attacked.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

The woman walking up was a nice sight. She was here to trade perhaps? Oh! Maybe she needed help with something and was going to ask... Or shoot at him... And yell. That was cool too. Rook frowned, looking at himself and then at her. He wasn't exactly trying to hide, and he had just gotten permission to be here. Why did he have to go now?

“Old man said Rook could be here! Rook is here to trade! Why lady shoot at Rook? What Rook do now?” He yelled, waving the white flag once. “Flag mean no shoot! Why lady shoot anyways? Does lady not know what flag means? Flag... White... No shoot at Rook.”

He didn't move, like he was rooted to the ground and unwilling to budge. The old man with Reba came running fast around the corner, rifle raised towards Rook... Then saw he hadn't exactly moved in the moment he was gone. He had a puzzled expression before seeing the woman with the plasma pistol. Then it clicked.

“Woah! Ma'am! Relax. Rook here just got here. We here at Salem are all about giving people a chance. He has been living near by for about a week. While I don't trust Super Mutants usually, Rook here isn't looking to cause any trouble. I saw him in his armor on his way here, was worried for a while. Then he killed a Mirelurk king and claimed it's home for his own. Damned sight that was. Can we lower the guns and talk this out?”

“Yeah! Rook not do anything bad. Rook has caps to trade. And muscle to move things!” He said, as if rather proud of those two facts.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Rook had not been shot at this far. So far, so good. He walked into town, still holding his white flag, and looked at the various buildings. There was... A lot of work that needed to be done here. When he had arrived at first, it was late, and he had not ventured very far away from his shack in the last week or so. It was not his place, and he had what he needed... But seeing this place, the terrible state it was in... He had resolved himself.

In his years, he had picked up a few skills here and there, perhaps he could put them to use here. While he was far from the best at things, being as strong as he was, he could carry things, help move heavy things, and generally help clean up. He knew some basics of black smithing as well, it's how he made parts of his armor, so there is that too. Nails and the like are always needed.

He had seen the ugliness of the Wastelands, and if he had his way, he was not going to let this place get swallowed up by it either. Stopping at a stall, he had seen it was long since abandoned. How many years ago did this settlement try to stand up only to falter and fall? He ran his hands over the well worn wood of the stand, it had a story to tell, one he wished to know, but that would come in time. Lifting back up his flag, he would look around. Was there a posted board for jobs? Was there a trader looking for someone to trade with? What was currently here?

At the moment, Rook just stood in the center of town, holding his white flag, bag of caps, and looking somewhat lost.

“You... Are not what I expected...” Barney Rook said, holding his rifle and looking at the Mutant. “But... You are not looking to be causing trouble... So as long as it stays that way, I think I can let you pass... But the Salem Volunteer Milita is always watching. Know that...”

“Rook will do as human says. Rook is seeking to trade, seeking to help. Rook wants home of his own. Does not like other Super Mutants. Does not like to hurt humans unless he has to.” Rook said, holding his flag tightly. “Rook wants to help town, Rook wants to stay in Rook's Roost.”

Barney looked confused, then realized the mutant was talking about itself. With a nod, Barney moved off, leaving Rook still wondering what he should do in order to start.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

It had been a few days since he had arrived here. He knew he was not usually welcome within the confines of Salem proper. He found a shack near the edge of the city, and he had to clear out the Mirelurks that rested within it. The eggs had been easy enough, it was the King that suddenly showed up that gave him issues. The red and black monster had torn out of the water like it owned this shack... And maybe in a way, it did.

When claws hit steel however, it was a very different reality. In his full suit, he might as well of been in powered armor, like those Brotherhood fellows, and the claws of the beast simply clattered and scraped along welded steel. Rook pulled back his fist and slammed it hard into the face of the Mirelurk King. He had seen what that sonic attack of theirs could do, and he would rather not have to be on the end of it. Stepping into the next strike, he pushed it back towards the water, blackish blood flowing down it's face.

The beast pulled back, ready to unleash that attack that it was known for, and that was when the blade came down. The heavy weapon that Rook had spent years trying to cobble together, the blade was heavier than he wanted, but overall, it worked. The halberd like weapon sang out through the air, found the flesh of the King, and in one motion, ended it's life. He would need to harvest the meat before it went bad, but he couldn't help himself.

“Rook takes King. Checkmate.” He said, looking to the remaining few eggs, the dead king, and the shack. “Yes... This will be a good place for Rook to live.”

That was nearly a week ago. He had cut and cooked the body of the King, making a simple stew with that he had left. Fish stew got old however, and he knew he had to do more. He had cleaned out all the muck that had been left behind by the Mirelurks, pulled up the truck from the water and let it dry before working off the steel and using that to make a better foundation for himself. His armor was put up on racks, the age old diamond plate steel had long ago lost it's luster, but he knew it was still as useful now as it was back then.

Grabbing the small bag of caps, Rook would count out what he had left. He needed supplies. He had seen other Super Mutants eating humans, but he couldn't ever bring himself to do that. He used to be one. As terrible as the wasteland was, he knew he could find food if he was willing to work for it, or had the money to get it. He had some caps, but not enough for every much. With a sigh, he would grab up the tattered cloth he had found what felt like years ago.

White, frayed in spots, holes in others, but it got the point across. Tried to what used to be a flag pole, he walked out with that on his shoulder. He wasn't in his armor, he had no weapons, but he was still an eight foot tall green man walking towards a town. He was sure he was going to make some people scared, hence the flag. It should make them wonder, or stop if they knew it was for surrender. Wearing only a simple pair of pants, Rook walked up the beach and around the rocks, heading towards the town of Salem proper, looking to trade, offer his muscles for caps, or just generally prove he was not like most of his kin.

“Rook is here for trade! Not to fight! Please do not shoot at Rook!” He called when he was on the main road, heading towards the town his one arm up, the other holding the flag.

FALLOUT: The Northern World

That would be perfectly fine. Either way it goes

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Rook

Name: Rook

Age: 20? He isn't sure.

Race: Super Mutant

Sex: Male (?)

Skills: Construction, hand to hand/close range combat, basic first aid, cooking skills (oddly), able chess player

Personality: Guarded, loner, distrusting of most,  fearless in the face of danger, if someone can make friends with him, there is almost blind loyalty, to the point of taking offense to those who attack those he cares about.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Rook is a monster among men, standing at 8 foot 9 inches tall, he is rather intimidating. This is further compounded by the fact he wears hand made armor, welded steel plates, barbed wire wrapped bracers, and a helmet that covers most of his face, he looks closer to the knights of old, Pre-war holo tapes.

His weapon is out that era as well. He carries a hand made pike. Plate steel welded to a steel pipe that is filled with cement and wrapped with leather. Given his size and power, it's a wonder any dare to challenge him. His only ranged weapon is almost comical. A simple, well worn 10mm pistol, and no, he is far from a good shot. He saves it for if he cannot reach something at all.
(Previous) Occupation(s): Mercenary

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory: One of the first FEV experiments by the Institute, Rook used to be a normal person. He doesn't recall where he was from, his name, or anything of that nature. He knew he enjoyed playing chess however, and has scattered memories of playing that with an old woman in blue.<br>
<br>
When he was made, he was deemed a failure because of his refusal to take orders. They sent a corsair to end his life. This... did not go as planned, as Rook ripped his arms off and proceeded to beat the synth to death with them. He was eventually subdued, shot in the head, and dumped in the sewers.<br>
<br>
The Institute, with all the power of their minds, had not realized just how resilient a Super Mutant could be. He awoke in the sewers, and fought his way free once more. He spent time healing, and learning more about his abilities.<br>
<br>
His hide out was eventually attacked by Raiders. At first he planned to simply flee, but when he saw the slaves, the people being pushed around, he felt he had to do something. In the world's worst game of Hide and Seek, Rook made himself known. His massive physical strength made it easy to kill the first two, and acquire a weapon. A simple, elegant, deadly machete.<br>
<br>
By the end of it, the raiders had been slain, and he opened the door to free the people... and they freaked out. He tried to explain his side, that he was not here to hurt them, but they remained unconvinced. When they escaped, they kept looking at him like he was a monster.

He went through the raiders items, cobbled together crude armor, collected the weapons, and set off, calling himself Rook. It just seemed to fit. He spent years slowly working up a reputation among the wastelanders, who never seemed to trust him, and he grew to hate that.

His most recent job had him guarding a caravan to Salem. The town was growing, and he didn't sign back on. Perhaps he could start a new here.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Nice. Rook is on the board.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

In all truth that is fine. I see him a lot like Meansonofabich from Fallout: New Vegas. He is a Super Mutant in North Vegas I want to say, who just showed up one day and became a town guard. @2sky11

FALLOUT: The Northern World

I know I am almost necro summoning here, but, I'd love to play.

Hammer

Hammer

General Information

Name: Hammer
Nicknames: Blunt Force
Sex: Male
Orientation: Girls are pretty
Age: Old, cannot remember
Living Relatives: None? All The Mutants?
Romantic Partner(s): none
Discovery Team? Yes

Physical Appearance

Hair Color/Style: Bald
Eye Color/Shape: Green, an oddity among his kind. Roundish eyes.
Face Shape: Squareish. A strong jaw, like he was carved from stone. If it wasn't for the skin tone and size, he was close to that of a Greek God, what ever that is.
Skin Tone: A deep black, like burnt paper.
Height: 8.5ft hunched, 10ft standing straight.
Weight: 870lbs
Body Type: Muscular, bordering on prewar body builder status.

Traits

Optimist or Pessimist? Sickeningly optimistic. It takes a lot to get his mood down or to break his spirit. Even when all this started happening, he was hopeful it was going to blow over.
Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert. As odd as it sounds, he tends to put himself out there, trying to keep others happy, even though he is super socially awkward.
Daredevil or Cautious? Daredevil in the flesh. He knows he is stronger than most, and as such, will throw himself in harm's way and hope for the best.
Messy or Neat? Messy due to him being rather forgetful for the most part.
Hard Worker or Slacker? Hard worker, had been since he wandered to this part of the city. He throws himself at any task he can do with his body alone, but will still wander if not given real directions.
Honest or Deceitful? Brutally honest, to the point in which people who don't understand how he is think he is being mean or cruel.
Peaceful or Easily Agitated? It depends on the situation, if some thing is far off, he tends to be rather relaxed. When something is threatening those he protects, that is when it is less good, and he is quick to anger.

Other

Faction: Northern Providence
Job Within Faction: Security/Construction
Traveling Companion: None
Skills: Melee Weapons, Medicine, Repair
S.P.E.C.I.A.L Stats: (Total of 40)
S. 10
P. 4
E. 10
C. 4
I. 4
A. 6
L. 2
Weapon of Choice: Modified Sledgehammer (weighted, steel handle), 10ft chain wrapped around left arm that had a meat hook hidden in his shoulder armor.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

So, I love fallout, but I cannot find the original interest check for this. Are there limits on what can be done or is it pretty open form?

Worst you can do is say no. I've got other ideas.

Rook

Name: Rook

Age: 20? He isn't sure.

Race: Super Mutant

Sex: Male (?)

Skills: Construction, hand to hand/close range combat, basic first aid, cooking skills (oddly), able chess player

Personality: Guarded, loner, distrusting of most,  fearless in the face of danger, if someone can make friends with him, there is almost blind loyalty, to the point of taking offense to those who attack those he cares about.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Rook is a monster among men, standing at 8 foot 9 inches tall, he is rather intimidating. This is further compounded by the fact he wears hand made armor, welded steel plates, barbed wire wrapped bracers, and a helmet that covers most of his face, he looks closer to the knights of old, Pre-war holo tapes.

His weapon is out that era as well. He carries a hand made pike. Plate steel welded to a steel pipe that is filled with cement and wrapped with leather. Given his size and power, it's a wonder any dare to challenge him. His only ranged weapon is almost comical. A simple, well worn 10mm pistol, and no, he is far from a good shot. He saves it for if he cannot reach something at all.
(Previous) Occupation(s): Mercenary

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory: One of the first FEV experiments by the Institute, Rook used to be a normal person. He doesn't recall where he was from, his name, or anything of that nature. He knew he enjoyed playing chess however, and has scattered memories of playing that with an old woman in blue.<br>
<br>
When he was made, he was deemed a failure because of his refusal to take orders. They sent a corsair to end his life. This... did not go as planned, as Rook ripped his arms off and proceeded to beat the synth to death with them. He was eventually subdued, shot in the head, and dumped in the sewers.<br>
<br>
The Institute, with all the power of their minds, had not realized just how resilient a Super Mutant could be. He awoke in the sewers, and fought his way free once more. He spent time healing, and learning more about his abilities.<br>
<br>
His hide out was eventually attacked by Raiders. At first he planned to simply flee, but when he saw the slaves, the people being pushed around, he felt he had to do something. In the world's worst game of Hide and Seek, Rook made himself known. His massive physical strength made it easy to kill the first two, and acquire a weapon. A simple, elegant, deadly machete.<br>
<br>
By the end of it, the raiders had been slain, and he opened the door to free the people... and they freaked out. He tried to explain his side, that he was not here to hurt them, but they remained unconvinced. When they escaped, they kept looking at him like he was a monster.

He went through the raiders items, cobbled together crude armor, collected the weapons, and set off, calling himself Rook. It just seemed to fit. He spent years slowly working up a reputation among the wastelanders, who never seemed to trust him, and he grew to hate that.

His most recent job had him guarding a caravan to Salem. The town was growing, and he didn't sign back on. Perhaps he could start a new here.